


your body is a blossoming garden (of the dark things that i did and i taught you)

by xieumi



Category: Chinese Actor RPF, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF
Genre: Bottom Wang Yi Bo/Top Xiao Zhan | Sean, M/M, No Beta, Semi-Public Sex, corny asf, famous!Wang Yibo, gege kink, massage porn, masseur!Xiao Zhan, yibo has to be quiet, zsww - Freeform, zsww world domination lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:29:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27476563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xieumi/pseuds/xieumi
Summary: “Ah, you’re here for the 1:30 afternoon appointment?” The concierge momentarily looks away from her computer to acknowledge the next guest, a man who was already settled in the hotel for a good thirty minutes, new to arrival, and sagging with an uncomfortable posture.Yibo couldn’t miss the way her eyes widened a fraction as at the realization mauling over in her brain at who he was. But, for professionalism’s sake, “Mr. Wang, yes?” she only gave the multifaceted star a crescent-eyed smile.“Yes,” Yibo curtly nodded, answering quickly and concisely in hopes of cutting off a foreseen small talk. All he needed was relief.
Relationships: Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan | Sean, Wang Yibo/Xiao Zhan
Comments: 18
Kudos: 290





	your body is a blossoming garden (of the dark things that i did and i taught you)

**Author's Note:**

> hello! have a poorly written, corny masseur!xz x famous!yibo porno. 
> 
> the title is from "alone somehow" by sobhhï, i ALWAYS think of them when i listen to this song idek why 
> 
> i did this very quickly so as usual sorry for any mistakes lol i just wanted to do this for fun, nothing serious bec there's lacking zsww massage porn

“Ah, you’re here for the 1:30 afternoon appointment?” The concierge momentarily looks away from her computer to acknowledge the next guest, a man who was already settled in the hotel for a good thirty minutes, new to arrival, and sagging with an uncomfortable posture. 

Yibo couldn’t miss the way her eyes widened a fraction as at the realization mauling over in her brain at who he was. But, for professionalism’s sake, “Mr. Wang, yes?” she only gave the multifaceted star a crescent-eyed smile. 

“Yes,” Yibo curtly nodded, answering quickly and concisely in hopes of cutting off a foreseen small talk. All he needed was relief. 

Over the past month or so, the young idol found himself enduring the worst stiffness all over his body. He wasn’t quite sure what led him to that point — he always made it a habit to stretch before undergoing a body-stressing activity. Still, the taxing of restless days and continuous jumping from job to job, filming to filming, endorsement to endorsement, and practice to

practice seemed to finally be catching up with his vessel (really, this happened many times before but the build-up this time around caught him off guard). Every step practically blared a red alarm in Yibo’s head, forcing him to shut his eyes past the electricity jolting from certain points in his body. 

He insisted on seeing a physical therapist to accurately tackle the problem areas, but with his relentless schedule, there was no possibility of fitting in more than one or two roundabout appointments. But even after that, the gods seemed to finally be merciful as his team booked a hotel near his next filming location—and that hotel had a massage therapist and a spa. That would have to do for now, for temporary relief. 

“The spa will be down the hall, the last door to your right,” the concierge gave him a business-friendly smile, and he only regarded her with a smaller reflection and a nod before stiffly heading in that direction. 

At this point, Yibo’s body was screaming at him by the time he pushed open the glass door with the handle, quietly stepping inside. It was an open area with mahogany floors, windows stretching tall and wide on the base to the ceilings to offer natural light into the waiting area. There was another woman at a front desk, but her reaction was more expectant of him than anything else, “Laoban, we will have your room ready in just a second.” 

Partially, Yibo was grateful to have this privacy—there was no one else in the waiting room, but it was probably because of the security pushed by his team, or the unruly hour for a massage. 

Overhead, a soft and peaceful tune of a dizi and erhu harmonize together, and Yibo has to remind himself to not give in to the heaps of sleep he’s been missing. He’d rather be fully conscious during the massage—maybe that relief would push him towards a greater nap when he finally returned to his room. 

Yibo blinks up from his shoes—he didn’t know he’d looked down, lord, his posture must be terrible—to see a tall man closing a second door behind him and stepping into the room to grab his patient.

When their eyes meet, Yibo almost chokes on his breath, but cooly swallows it down, hoping there’s no falter in his expression. Maybe just a twitch of his eye had seeped past. 

The man is gorgeous. All long-legged in the white get up, pants loosely lined down to his ankles, shirt tight to accentuate the perfect clench of his waist, tucked and unforgiving as the short sleeves wrap around the visible bulge of biceps. They stare at each other for the briefest moment—he swipes his gaze over Yibo, almost too quickly, and then he smiles incandescently. Unfair. Even  _ his smile  _ thrummed deep inside of him. How was he supposed to survive these next ninety minutes?

“Right this way,” the man’s voice is sweet, sounding of sugared strawberry that was left to caramelize and dipped in whip cream to offload the profuse taste, rendering the delight  _ perfect _ . Yibo willed saliva back in his mouth after barely registering that it had gone dry upon the reveal of the masseur. 

Yibo followed behind the man as they exited the waiting room to recover the taller’s perspective room. When they arrived, the man held the door open for him, and when they both got inside, “My name is Xiao Zhan, I will be your masseur today. I hope you are okay with that. You didn’t exactly choose your preference for male or female when you booked your appointment.” 

Yibo shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to hold back a wince from the jolt of pain coursing through his muscles, “No, that’s fine. I don’t have a preference. Nice to meet you.” Well,  _ he did _ , but he also didn’t want to be noticeably exuberant in his decision if he  _ had _ chosen a male, so he left it blank. To be honest, he was kind of gripping on to the possibility of luck. And boy, did he get lucky—with a gorgeous man, at that. 

“Great!” Xiao Zhan grins, all too dazzling in the way the corner of his lips are perfectly cut deep, dimples stretching like a carefully carved artifact to match the genuine response, “Go ahead and get undressed—you can leave your underwear on, and lay face down in the bed, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be back as soon as you’ve finished.” 

——————————

Yibo lay with his head resting on top of his folded forearms, a towel on his clothed bum, gaze following Xiao Zhan like a prowling panther as he made his way around the table with some bottles strapped to his hip with a belt. Upon his passing, the idol couldn’t help but look his fill at the curve of the masseur’s structured ass. Okay - so he was most definitely prepossessing, noted many times. And Yibo was most definitely attracted to him. 

Xiao Zhan lit an incense stick and aligned it on the plate and wheeled that cart over next to the head of Yibo’s bed, allowing the patient to relax with the scent. Yibo worked his eyes away from the man and willed himself to focus on the satisfying line of smoke curling away from the stick. 

“I’ll be working on all of your muscle groups in today’s massage, I can divide the time however you see fit. For example, if you have any particular kinks,” oh, Yibo has  _ many _ kinks, and he’s definitely adding  _ this _ on his list, “or aches, please tell me so I can spend more time on those areas. Also, feel free to kick me if I hurt you.” 

Yibo huffed a laugh at that, his back muscles and sides twinging with it, “I assure you I can handle anything you give me. No violence today.” 

“Perfect, then that means we’ll both be happy,” Xiao Zhan is making his rounds once more as if evaluating the body laying pliant before him, “Is there anywhere in particular that you want to focus on?” 

“Mm,” Yibo hums thoughtfully, “everywhere, quite literally. Mainly my hips and my lower back, though.” 

“Ah, dancing?” the man sounds like he doesn’t regret stepping into that territory. Yibo closes his eyes and smiles into the squish of his forearms, “Well, yeah, and just job jumping. Can never catch a break.” 

Xiao Zhan, ironically, “Yeah, I get that.” 

It makes them both splutter laughs, and eventually, it fizzles down to Xiao Zhan pleasantly humming along with the overhead music—both not too loud to be overbearing, soft enough to offer a cradle for sleep, “Forgive me if I fall asleep.” 

“Oh, please,” there’s another smile in his voice that Yibo, uncharacteristically, has quickly become attuned to, “be my guest, I prefer it. I’ll just roll you around. But, I doubt this will be as relaxing as you’d hoped it would be.” Warmed oil is being dribbled in small portions along his spine.

Yibo nodded, an easy sigh leaving his parted lips, “Do your worst, then.” 

“Mark your words,” Xiao Zhan warns him as if their banter is familiar, and Yibo has little time to respond before he flinches at the masseur’s hands, splaying across the broadness of his back, “No violence, remember?” Yibo tries not to mentally catalog the feeling of ten beautiful digits melting into his flesh. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Yibo wills himself to relax again. 

It feels nice, to say the least. Xiao Zhan’s hands, when he first eyed them, were smaller and graceful compared to his own, but their ministrations are doused with experience at each dig into his back muscles, pulling him apart slowly. When he ventures to the bottom of his trapezius, Yibo pushes out a grunt. 

“Hurts?” Xiao Zhan’s oiled hand digs over that spot again, more consistent in his strokes as if he had just discovered gold, earning another low rumble from the patient. 

“Yeah,” Yibo huffs, “everywhere.” 

“Mm, laoban’s body must be too stressed from carrying the industry on his shoulders.” 

It was another obvious joke to call out the pretentiousness of it all, but it wasn’t followed by a laugh, so Yibo did it for him, “Wow, thinking so high and mighty of me. Are you a fan?” Xiao Zhan digs his thumb into his teres major now, and Yibo yelps, “ _ Ow _ .”

Satisfied, the masseur rotates his fingers into that spot and shifts his weight, one other hand coming down to rest on the small of his back, pinky barely fluttering against his tailbone. Yibo holds his breath. 

“Of course I’m a fan,” Xiao Zhan digs the heel of his hand vertically down from the former muscle, traveling to his side, “and I have the honor of massaging you today. I’ll be sure you leave satisfied today, laoban.” It’s said all too sultry, too velvety, but maybe that’s just the haze of Yibo’s brain, “Call me Yibo.” 

“Okay, Yibo,” Xiao Zhan snorts, shifting down the tabled bed so he can bracket his hands on either side of his waist. He massaged that area simultaneously with both of his hands, heavily pressured, which emitted a low groan from the other man. 

“You’re tight in a lot of places,” Xiao Zhan noted aloud as if it was so fascinating, swooping his hands to press down just above his tailbone. Yibo instantly thinks of an offhand joke, something from the gutter in his brain, but he bites it back and replaces the urge with a small noise of agreement. 

Xiao Zhan shuffles down further but drags his hands along with him, over the towel, working the heel of his hand into the two mounds of flesh covered in too many layers. Yibo begins nibbling at his bottom lip and turns his face away from view, forehead pressing into his forearms as a steady flush creeps up his neck and ears. The masseur’s hands dip down the sides, massaging away the tension at the upper and lower parts of his hips. “Mind if I remove this?” Xiao Zhan’s voice is an octave lower when he asks, unprofessional, tugging at the towel. 

Yibo swallows, mentally kicking himself for the minor squeak of his voice, “Yeah, go ahead.” 

Xiao Zhan pulls it away and folds it neatly at the foot of the bed before continuing to work a knuckle into the taut flesh where Yibo’s left asscheek and hip connect, unfortunately, blanketed by the thin layer of boxer briefs, “Sometime’s towels can get inconvenient, especially if it’s full-body—can’t do anything with it on.” 

When he finishes behind, Xiao Zhan uncaps the oil and drizzles some more on his hands before going back to work. He squeezes, massages, digs at the muscles in his thighs, calves, and feet. His lathering switches between coaxing for relaxation and painful loosening, but it's necessitated. However, every second of it is both riling Yibo’s inner turmoil and also battling his previously inflexible muscles, warming his soreness so that his skin is left buzzing. 

When Xiao Zhan travels his hands back up, though, that’s when Yibo finds himself squeezing his breath in his lungs. Maybe it’s just him, too pent up over the last few months without a good dicking, but it’s  _ really _ catching up to him now. The tickle of those fingers when they soften their pressure on his skin, trailing up like spider legs, melting the planes of his body with their strategic movements, dipping into places that twinge the most only to prompt him closer to delayed gratification. Xiao Zhan’s hands grab around the back of Yibo’s thighs just above the back of his knees, pressure hard, and then he’s pushing up. Closer,  _ closer _ to the prize. With Yibo’s skinny legs, Xiao Zhan’s thumbs easily slip into the inner cave of Yibo’s thighs, massaging up just before the fabric of his boxers. His fingers push in momentarily, sending a jolt through the patient’s spine. 

“Are you doing okay?” Xiao Zhan chuckles at the sudden movement, returning to the place just above his knees, feigning innocence of some sort.

“Yes, feels good,” says Yibo slowly into the pillow of his arms. He turns his head to lay on its side again, trying to sneak a glance at the masseur. He gulps inaudibly at the sight. 

Xiao Zhan’s eyes are most definitely trained on his ass. 

The masseur repeats the same motion. Beginning from the bottom. Goes up to the top. Fingers reach even further into the fabric of his boxers, even so, they push up a little to the beginning curve of his bum, revealing some of the plump flesh and wetting with the residue oil on Xiao Zhan’s fingers. Yibo’s lips visibly parted to let out a gasp that no one but him and the crook of his arm could hear. 

Xiao Zhan does this a few more times and with every instance, the fabric is filtered with more of the substance, pushed up to the middle of his asscheeks. The next round, his thumb barely ghosts over the valley between his two mounds and he visibly opens his hips to it, ignoring the resisting twinge, minutely pushing back into the pressure of his fingers. Maybe he hears Xiao Zhan’s breath stutter, or maybe he feels his movements momentarily still, but beyond that, the masseur doesn’t act further, possibly playing with the motion of ignorance. Fine, Yibo can keep playing, then. 

The man above him repeats this a few more times until his hands are full-on groping the pert flesh. Every swipe up, his thumbs would abandon the pack to skim over the fabric bunched over his asshole. The touch is there and then gone all at once in a singular movement, and Yibo bites his lip to hold back the urge of persuading him to investigate  _ further _ . But then, “Go ahead and turn over now, so I can do your front,” Xiao Zhan suddenly says. That may be a problem. Yibo—if he hadn’t noticed it earlier, he’s  _ definitely  _ noticing now—is hard. Outrageously so. But, he thinks, that may as well be the whole point of this “ignorance game.” 

Yibo leisurely hikes himself up on his elbows—he knows what he looks like, he’s seen himself from multiple different angles—and does his best to accentuate the curve of his back to his ass in the most voluptuous way possible. Brazenly, he turns, twisting his torso so that his abdomen tightens like a taut rope, and finally lays on his back. The slide of oil does nothing to turn him off, which is what he nearly favored to save himself from the other possible avenues of embarrassment or disgust. But, Xiao Zhan eyes his whole body, his gaze spreading like a wildfire on the exposed skin and  _ very _ obvious arousal tenting in his boxers. With an approving smile, he once again recovers his facade of innocence—blissfully. 

Xiao Zhan sidesteps around the bed once more with his vial of oil, this time coming up behind Yibo’s head. He opens it, swirling the remaining contents, and gently pours it over the expanse of Yibo’s chest. Some of the leftovers are trailed down his abs, making a big show at collecting prettily in his belly button. It isn’t until Xiao Zhan places the vial down when Yibo’s heart rate picks up with anticipation, the masseur’s hands flattening down on his clavicles, thumbs reaching behind to massage down on the top of his trapezius. Oh, that feels good. 

Yibo groans, closing his eyes to repeat out loud, “That feels good.” 

“Yeah?” dark, husky, Xiao Zhan hums. It sounds nearly filthy. Good. Yibo can be filthy.

“Yes,” Yibo gasps as the thumbs apply more pressure, curing the knots rooted from too much work burden. 

“I’m glad,” Xiao Zhan whispers, oiled hands moving up to massage the sides of his neck. Yibo blinks his eyes open and immediately reroutes to looking up at his masseur through the newfound layer of arousal, licking his lips. 

“Lao-Xiao, you’re so handsome,” Yibo grins wickedly, though the strength of it wavers as Xiao Zhan looks down to meet his ogle, causing him to twitch in his boxers. A huff of laughter can be heard above, and it only escalates to Xiao Zhan moving his hands away from his neck and down his chest. Those fingers agonizingly,  _ teasingly _ , working over his pebbled nipples, pinched feather-light between his pointer and middle fingers before they’re replaced with a full palm rub. Yibo’s jaw goes slack, and his eyes flutter shut, now keen on focusing on the pleasurable sensation. 

“I wanted to be cool… But, I would hate myself for never complimenting you, too,” Xiao Zhan confesses with a coo, low and behold his temptation as he crowds against the back of the bed, hips pressing against Yibo’s head and— _ god.  _ He’s rock hard against the top of his head as he leans over to dig the heels of his hands down the lean planes of Yibo’s body. So, they were both on the same page. Yibo could either continue playing along and eventually break from the build-up, or just go for it now. “Because you’re stunning, Yibo.” 

His brain short-circuits when the feeling of fingers curl under the waistband on his boxers. Yibo’s eyes shoot open once more just to gaze straight at the opening of the untucked shirt, sinuously open by the way Xiao Zhan was leaning over him. It leaves little to his imagination, especially with the way a thick trail of hair starts from his belly button and disappears into the whites of his pants, probably nurturing the base of his erection. And  _ fuck,  _ that’s sexy. He wants to get his mouth on it. 

He can’t take it anymore, not with the way he’s straining with his desire, but because everything about this is so  _ inviting _ . 

Before he could even think of second-guessing, Yibo tips his head back to expose the column of his throat, pressing his forehead against the hardness that is prominent in his caretaker’s pants. Then, lifting an arm, he brushes scant knuckles against it, before momentarily adding light pressure. 

Xiao Zhan nearly stops in his trails, a shaky breath sifting through his teeth. The sound blooms  _ something _ in Yibo’s chest. He barely gyrates into the contact, but it’s more than enough for Yibo to continue. Meanwhile, Xiao Zhan starts again, his hands that were originally braced at the muscles in the patient’s stomach are now traveling past his former limits, unceremoniously grasping the shape of Yibo’s erection through his boxers, now warm with oil seeping through.

“Oh,  _ fuck _ ,” Yibo groans quietly as he shifts his head and hand against Xiao Zhan’s arousal, the other tightening his hold through the fabric. 

The next thing he knows, the hands are off of his clothed dick and two hands are grabbing behind his shoulders, manhandling him up. He follows easily, dazedly sitting up and turning around to face Xiao Zhan—who is already climbing on the bed, too. 

They meet in the middle, Yibo snaking his arms around Xiao Zhan’s neck to pull him into a filthy kiss when the other has no less action on his part, harshly grabbing at the pert flesh of Yibo’s ass. They gravitate together like a puzzle piece, their lips bruising and wetting each other with a relentless desire that has yet to consume the rest of their time together. 

The feeling of oiled skin against dry clothes isn’t pleasing in the least, and Yibo laughs into the make out as his and Xiao Zhan’s hands knock together at the base of the white shirt, both making a move to discard the clothing. The masseur tugs it over his head, tossing it somewhere on the floor rather absentmindedly. Immediately, Yibo attacks his throat, lathering his tongue over the area of his jugular vein and then giving it a wet suck. 

Meanwhile, Xiao Zhan grasps Yibo’s hips and tugs him  _ forward _ until their fronts are flushed together. Both gasp, Yibo’s lips momentarily firming over the spot on the masseur’s neck that he was currently tending to. 

He’s panting, breath hot, and ticklish against Yibo’s ear as he asks, “Let me take care of you––what do you want?” he almost sounds lightheaded. Yibo lifts his head from Xiao Zhan’s neck and slots his arms through to reciprocate the firm grab on his masseur’s hips as well, meeting his dark gaze where the tips of his eyebrows were almost drawn together. A crease, Yibo sees, adding to the near growl and aggravated want, in between his brows. Almost instantly, their lips meet fervently once more, Yibo slipping his tongue into Xiao Zhan’s cavern as their teeth momentarily clack together upon the rush. 

When they pull away again, though, it’s the taller’s turn to dip his head down and tackle Yibo’s oiled neck, loosened with care. The latter tips his head back with a whimper as the masseur kisses from the dip of his neck up to his adam’s apple. Xiao Zhan’s lips follow the way the sharp angle of his neck bobs, nipping at it, before returning up to the same level as him. 

Their eyes meet in a fevered moment that then arises the question: should they continue? Is this okay? Yibo flattens his moistened and plump lips into a calculating line, narrowing his gaze on the other across from him. Xiao Zhan barely leans forward to brush their lips together, coining his equal stubbornness with Yibo’s in a fit of refusal for disconnecting their gazes. 

Then, lightly, hot breath wisping across the equal plushness of the masseur’s lips, “Will you… fuck me?” Xiao Zhan’s eyelashes flutter and simultaneously, wanton clouds storm his gaze. Yibo takes that as a minuscule sign to continue, “Fuck me good, and loosen me up? My muscles have been aching, gege. I need relief.” 

An audible swallow is all it takes for Xiao Zhan to agree, brushing his lips higher up his cheekbone until they arrive at the redness of Yibo’s ear, “I can do that for you,” hot, breathy, deep - the younger shudders. Yibo feels his ass being cupped and groped by two glorious, hot hands, oil fingerprints seeping through the fabric of his briefs. 

“You’ll do it good?” Yibo tips his head to the side to allow the person he’s only known for  _ less  _ than an hour to kiss behind his ear. 

A breathy chuckle. Yibo silently keens, shutting his eyes as the flush grows higher on his face. It’s too heated, too steamy, too sensual all at once and it curates a hot prickle of eyes glazing over with unshed tears behind Yibo’s eyelids, when Xiao Zhan drags his teeth daringly along the lobe of his ear, “When I’m done with you, you won’t even be able to  _ think _ about muscle pain after this.” 

——————————

One, two,  _ three  _ fingers were deep in Yibo’s ass, accompanied by the lewd squelch of the oil as Xiao Zhan thrust those  _ experienced _ digits in and out of his heat. 

The younger was laid on his back on the bed once more, oil mostly seemed into his skin to give off a fainter sheen than before. Xiao Zhan seemed to have the hots for it, though, so Yibo couldn’t really pipe up about it. However, with the way Xiao Zhan was hunched over him, one hand working into the place where he so  _ desperately _ wanted to be filled, his other clasped tightly over Yibo’s mouth to buffer any sound possible, Yibo  _ literally _ couldn’t speak up. Even  _ that _ was hot, residue oil smudged under the expanse of his palm on Yibo’s face - he could just barely make out the faint smell of jasmine, tingling his nostrils. 

Yibo grabs Xiao Zhan’s wrist in a tight hold, opening his eyes in a silent plea. The masseur sweats easily - forehead glistening with its wetness and bead carefully strolling down his temple. His hair has since been pushed back––it’s hot for the both of them––and he meets Yibo’s gaze knowingly. Of course, not giving in to those telepathic gestures, Xiao Zhan nails Yibo’s prostate head-on. 

The reaction is almost as instant as the jab: pleasure zips right through his body, curdling in his gut, as he curls in on himself and digs his nails into the flesh of the masseur’s wrist. 

“ _Mmfph,”_ _please_ , he tries to say behind the hand, the tightness of it cutting off any movement for Yibo to possibly squeeze in a word or two. He wonders if, at all possible, the grip would leave a mark on his face afterward. God, he sure hoped it did. 

“You want this?” Xiao Zhan instantly slows his motions, looking up at Yibo through his lashes. His fingers feel like they’re now just swiftly twisting inside him with every thrust, massaging his velvet walls and just barely brushing at the button of his pleasure. Yibo does his best to frantically nod with the cage securely locked on his lower face, eyes wide and wet. Xiao Zhan meets that desperate gaze, brows still tipped upward in a struggle between the seemingly obvious want to  _ pounce _ and  _ restraint _ . He takes his hand off of Yibo’s mouth, damp with saliva, and the latter gasps as if he hadn’t been able to breathe through his nose. Glossy and moisturized with the oil and the handprint he could still feel, warm on his face, Yibo’s lips are propped open, intaking many small gasps, “Gege, fuck me.” 

It all happens hastily—Yibo dazedly watching Xiao Zhan climb off of the bed rather fluidly, working his pants down until they crowd at his ankles. His dick—flushed, dark,  _ hard _ , and looking as if it would break him—standing to attention between his legs. Yibo’s mouth salivated at the pool of hair traveling from just below his belly button to gardening around his cock. He shuffles over to a bag situated on a desk and ruffles through it until the familiar tin foil square is in view. Yibo watches him slowly roll the condom over the tantalizing rod. Fuck, he wanted it now. 

He didn’t have to ask again before Xiao Zhan was grabbing him,  _ pulling _ , until Yibo’s body faced his and he could stand in between his legs. With another yank, the younger’s hips were just barely off the tabled bed, allowing Xiao Zhan to move closer so that the head of his arousal nudged against Yibo’s balls. Yibo let out a small whimper, then forced himself quiet once more. He probably looked so red, so flushed and teary, but he didn’t really care. He just wanted to get fucked. 

Xiao Zhan rubbed his hand against Yibo’s stomach, and before he could inquire, he returned it to his shaft, stroking himself absentmindedly but with the intention of slicking himself up, eyeing Yibo’s body. 

“Gege…” Yibo mewls, hips twitching.

“You must really love calling others gege,” Xiao Zhan smiles, grabbing the base of his cock and letting the head rub against Yibo’s oil-slicked hole, “Is that your thing?” 

Yibo smirks, eyeing the inevitable point of connection between them and nudging his hips downward on it, “Got a problem with that?” 

“Of course not,” Xiao Zhan purrs, “didi.” Without warning, he is breached open by the thick head, lacking pause until the masseur is fully sheathed to the hilt. Yibo shouts, but the sound is instantly cut off by the same sinuous hand slapping over his mouth. He whimpers this time, one hand scattering up to grab at Xiao Zhan’s waist and pull him in closer.

When he complies, he drops down by Yibo’s ear, “Hush.”

Yibo closes his eyes and can only comply, breathing harshly from his nostrils. 

The pace starts relatively slow— _ savory _ is the only way Yibo can describe it. A hook up with a random stranger—who, coincidentally, had very talented hands—should  _ not  _ be feeling this sensual. A quick fuck, done, and Yibo was out of there to be sent away with the ache of a newer coupling. 

But Xiao Zhan was really taking his time. Each stroke inside him, despite the condom, Yibo could feel each vein that scorched his inner walks, reaching further and further inside of him until he was fully grazing against his prostate. Yibo cried pleasurably into Xiao Zhan’s palm, raising his legs to hike his heels higher up the masseur’s hips. 

All the while, Xiao Zhan had his head tucked next to Yibo’s head, huffing into his ear at every perfect roll of his hips. The glide was so easy, making it even more enjoyable for the both of them. But Yibo wanted more. 

Maybe it had been the way Yibo crossed his ankles or tried pulling the man closer, but Xiao Zhan unabashedly answered his prayers—pulling his hips back, then snapping back in. The younger tilted his head back with a muffled groan, the hand on his mouth tightening, and the motion was repeated once again. 

Yibo’s whole body jolted with the motion, and he found his hands scrabbling to wring around Xiao Zhan’s neck, pulling him impossibly close. He was just  _ covered _ —draped by his hot masseur’s body, mouth taped with that beautiful hand of his, his vision skewed by the rolling smoke from the incense burner as it reaches towards the yellow solitude of the ceiling. 

“You feel so good, Yibo,” Xiao Zhan groans in his ear. The praise, among many, that he has been rewarded in his sex life, rises the hair on his arms and at the nape of his neck. When Xiao Zhan snaps his hips again, Yibo is sent forward minutely, moving with the motion, until he is secured by the masseur once more in a silent promise. He takes his hand off of Yibo’s mouth when he feels the younger has settled, and pulls away to stand between his legs again, still fully sheathed. 

“Feels good,” Yibo can barely suppress his smile, anchored by the bite of his lower lip. 

The masseur is lazily rolling his hips into his patient once more, looking breathless, sweaty, and blown away all at once. His hands are scavenging down Yibo’s body, purposefully missing his achingly red cock, whimpering for attention, to practice his focus on his nipples. Xiao Zhan, with a small smirk, gives them a pinch, and the younger arches his back into it. 

“Fuck me,  _ fuck me _ ,” Yibo pleads, brows drawn together with subtle frustration as he watches the older rub the nubs between his index fingers and thumbs. 

“Mm, as you wish,” he grins fully now, “but you have to be quiet, or else I’ll stop.” 

_ Fuck, yes! _ is the first thing that zips through Yibo’s brain when Xiao Zhan slams his hips back in and sets an erratic pace. Yibo throws his arm over his mouth and bites into it, shutting his eyes at the sheer intensity of having his prostate abused over and over by Xiao Zhan’s dick.

“Mm, f-fuck, _ ah _ ,  _ ah _ ,” Yibo manages to slip out quietly, so much restraint burning in his chest as all he wants to do is  _ scream  _ (bur he’s a good boy, he listens to what he’s told to do) from the sensation coursing through his veins, but he can’t. He won’t allow himself to.

“Good, so good, didi,” Xiao Zhan pants, hooking his hands under Yibo’s knees and guiding them to prop on a singular shoulder. He circles his arms around Yibo’s thighs and ruts into him relentlessly, a pace  _ so  _ hard and  _ so  _ fast that Yibo is secretly hoping the bed is bolted to the floor. Their coupling leaves little to the imagination: slick skin on slick skin smacking against each other, muffled grunts and mewls, the material of the bed squeaking under Yibo’s skin. 

But what’s more, the younger finds himself hurdling closer and closer to the edge. 

“ _ Fuck _ , Zhan-ge, I’m close,” Yibo quietly cries into the crook of his elbow, desperately trying to quell the exigency piling in his throat to vocalize his pleasure. 

Xiao Zhan answers by circling one slender hand around Yibo’s arousal, pulsing at this point and preening at the shift of attention. Yibo whimpers and presses his legs together, head falling back as the masseur continues to drill into him, one arm locked around Yibo’s legs and the other working furiously over his dick, drilling into his prostate. 

It isn’t long till Yibo  _ finally _ is sent over the edge with a cry. He bites into his forearm one last time with a muffled yell, loosening up for Xiao Zhan to  _ bend  _ him in half to work him through it. Work  _ both  _ of them through it. 

Xiao Zhan’s eyes are shut tight when he presses the side of his face against Yibo’s legs, fucking the rest of his load into him as Yibo’s completion paints the wide expanse of his chest and stomach white. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” the masseur curses and then stills, feeling himself load into the condom, and then Yibo is no longer squeezing his walls around him. 

They stay like that: Yibo deliciously folded under Xiao Zhan’s weight, still panting into the aftermath of their fuck, and Xiao Zhan’s breath curling across the younger’s collarbones as he pants and hugs his legs. 

“That was…” Yibo hums despite himself, feeling the buzz in his skin die down eventually. 

“Good,” Xiao Zhan finishes for him. Then they’re both maneuvering together, Xiao Zhan slowly pulling out and assisting Yibo’s legs down. Either way, the star flinches at the twinge in his tailbone but considers that all the evidence he needs to label it as a good fucking, and slowly sits up. He feels spent, used, and inexplicably loose to the point of satisfaction. 

He watches as Xiao Zhan ties the condom and tosses it into the bin at the corner of his office, the lean body of his contoured under the soft yellow light of the office. 

When he strolls back over, though, he slots himself back into Yibo’s legs and gives him a long, lazy kiss. Yibo smiles into it until they pull away. 

“Is this how you seduce all of your patients?” Yibo cocks an amused brow. 

Xiao Zhan chuckles, “Mm, I’ve never done this before, truth be told.” 

“Oh?” Yibo’s eyes widen mirthfully, and he can’t help the toothy grin he gives the other, “What makes me so different, then?”

The masseur rolls his eyes and lifts his hands to rub his hips, “Enough of that. Do  _ you  _ do this to every man you receive service from?”

A daring question, really, but it does little to topple Wang Yibo himself. He tips his head to the side cutely, searching Xiao Zhan’s questioning orbs, “To be honest, haven’t done this before, either.” 

——————————

When Yibo leaves, he’s accompanied by a new relief over his body, muscles loosened… as well as a new personal massage therapist. 

**Author's Note:**

> lolol and to end it off with a cliche, xz becomes yibs private masseur, travels the world with him, and they get married! lol 
> 
> twitter: chef_sizzle  
> instagram (i do art!): chef.sizzle


End file.
